


Tie Me Up & Lick Me Down

by Thatlassiegotglassed



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Anyelle, Cake Vodka Smut, F/M, Mountaintops Deleted Scene, Smut, renbelle - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-09
Updated: 2013-09-09
Packaged: 2017-12-26 03:56:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/961294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thatlassiegotglassed/pseuds/Thatlassiegotglassed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Cake Vodka Smut Scene that was missing from On Mountaintops in Russia.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tie Me Up & Lick Me Down

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [On Mountaintops in Russia](https://archiveofourown.org/works/747350) by [Thatlassiegotglassed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thatlassiegotglassed/pseuds/Thatlassiegotglassed). 



> This is dedicated to the 40 puppies that were punched by Renard for each day I didn't finish this damn thing. (Kidding, no puppies were harmed in the making of this smut) I might be doing more deleted scenes, I may not. :/ You guys can always check my tumblr. I hope you like it!

Tie Me Up & Lick me Down (Aka: The Cake Vodka Smut)  
Mountaintops Deleted Scene #1

As an agent, Belle had been tied up plenty of times—it came with the job—but she had never been tied to a bed. She twisted her wrists in the silk scarves and pulled against the headboard, testing their durability for the twentieth time—they held. Renard's skill with knots was impressive and pressed tightly against her wrist so that she couldn't even use her nails to try and undo them. Not that she would want to anyway.

Renard's room was no longer a mystery and she admired the burnished copper furnishings and white accents of the curtains and sheets. It was elegant and secluded. Up on the third floor of the mansion, his room was cut off from everything and the move to Belle's blue room had been a given, saving them the extra flight of stairs when it was time for bed. Tonight however, they had hiked the extra mile because Renard had insisted on tying her down and her bed frame wasn't made for that.

Belle stretched her body and wrapped her fingers around the cool copper of the headboard bars and closed her eyes. He had been gone for what felt like hours, leaving her locked in his room wearing practically nothing. A fire crackled in the giant hearth and he had dug out the space heaters so she was perfectly warm in just her lacy underwear and stockings.

She opened her eyes and looked towards the door as she heard Renard outside in the hallway—finally.

“Ahh yes, thank you.” Renard said as Anderson handed him a large box.

The contents of the box clinked and his guard raised an eyebrow, “What's in the box, Renard?”

“Books.” Renard adjusted the box against his hip and it clinked again.

“Doesn't sound like books.” Anderson crossed his arms.

“Well it is,” Renard snapped. “Don't you have rounds to complete?”

The sun was setting and Anderson nodded. As much as he wondered why his employer was acting so strange it wasn't worth completing his rounds behind schedule.

Once Anderson was down the hall, Renard unlocked his bedroom door and walked inside.

“I was thinking of sending out the hounds,” Belle said quietly fighting the urge to pull on her restraints as he shut the door with his hip and locked it again. He wore what he wore just about every day—tight black shirt barely containing his impressive shoulders and black jeans to match. The color suited him without making it look like he was always ready for a funeral—instead it made him look damn good.

Renard smirked as he set the box on the dresser and put his hands on the mattress, leaning over her. A curl draped over her shoulder and rested on top of her bare breast and he couldn't help reaching out and brushing it back. Belle shivered.

“I got tied up.” His mouth curled into a truly evil grin that made her bite her lip and clench her fists. For the past week they had been fooling around in secret. They rotated their shagging between Belle's room and the library and never dared to go to the first floor should they be discovered.   
“Bastard,” she joked softly and leaned her head forward. “Kiss me.”

Renard's grin fell slightly and he leaned down, giving her a soft brush of his lips while sliding his palm down her stomach to stop at the tops of her garters.

“Did I pick these out?” He questioned as he looked down the length of her body to the crimson lace undergarments that left very little to the imagination. His fingers traced the tops of the stockings, down her calf and back up slowly, avoiding the parts she wanted him to touch most on purpose.

“Yes,” Belle nodded and yelped as he gave the garter a quick snap and leaned back up.

“I did well,” He chuckled. The box was still sitting on the dresser and Renard made his way back over to it, unclipping his pocketknife in order to rip through the packing tape with ease. He looked far too smug and part of her wanted to punch him for it. Belle twisted her body on the bed, the fact that she couldn't escape caused her pulse to race and things low in her stomach to tighten as she watched Renard's backside.

Belle gave up her halfhearted struggle and blew her bangs from her face. “Goodness, how many did you buy?”

“Enough.” He pulled a bottle out of the box and and opened it, letting it waft for a moment before smelling it directly. If there was one thing Renard was passionate about, it was his liquor. He took a large swig and winced slightly. The burn of stout spirits was one of the only things he could feel as it worked its way down his throat and settling into a comfortable smolder in his belly. He craved the sense in such a way that Belle was surprised he wasn't intoxicated for the majority of the day.

The bed moved as he set the bottle on the beside table and crawled towards her. He sniffed along her skin, around her navel, over her breasts and ending at the curve of her neck.

“You smell nice,” he grumbled and she closed her eyes.

“Thank you,” Belle breathed and tilted her head, beckoning him to use his lips.

“Are you warm enough?”

“Yes,” she started to nod but kept still as his teeth grazed along her jaw.

“Too tight?” His fingers moved up her arms and danced over the scarves at her wrists.

She shook her head and leaned down, trying awkwardly to move to where she could capture his lips but he pulled away, denying her again. He moved down her body, showing special attention to her neck, the valley of her breasts, and all the places where he could indulge in her scent. When his nose bumped the inside of her thigh, she clenched her legs and a small noise escaped her lips.

“Victor,” she growled, putting annoyance into her voice so as to drown out the overwhelming need that kept trying to come through. He was toying with her. He wanted her to beg for it and she refused. She was better than that; she was a double-oh.

He slipped his knee between her thighs--he didn't want her modesty to suddenly interrupt his fun-- and watched his own hand as it slid along the edges of the lace and dipped inside to brush her dark curls. He'd teased her with his mouth before and she didn't seem to mind that he was out of practice. The way she writhed for him stroked his ego in such a way that he almost dipped his head and set to work but he refrained. He couldn't feel it but he could see, knickers a deeper shade of red between her thighs—she was wet for him.

The way he stared at her, stormy eyes poised and waiting to devour her, made Belle grip the scarves and ask quietly, “Untie me?”

Renard snapped out of it, leaning back on his knees and shaking his head. “I don't think so.” His confident face returned but Belle knew it was an act. In bed, he wanted her badly enough that the facade often broke and the thought made her smile a bit.

He leaned over and grabbed the bottle off the table, tossing the lid over his shoulder and reading the label. “Vanilla Cake—you weren't joking. It comes in seven different kinds did you know?”

“Guess we'll have to try them all,” She smiled and arched her back a little, bringing his attention to her breasts.

“If you insist,” he smiled back. Lowering the bottle, Renard tipped it just enough that a small amount plopped on her torso. Belle jumped, thankful it wasn't chilled, and watched as he ducked his head and slurped it up quickly. It tickled and she laughed, his movements almost comical as he did it again and tried to catch the liquid before it slid off her side and hit the bed.

His usual suave demeanor was replaced with something that resembled an otter trying to learn how to use a spoon. Clumsy, inefficient and down right adorable. He did it again and the liquid ran down her stomach to pool in her navel and he quickly sucked it out and Belle couldn't stop the waves of laughter.

“Fuck,” Renard cursed as he lost more of the liquor to be soaked into the sheets. He sat back on his knees, gripping the bottle and glared at her. “Think this is funny?”

Belle nodded, “Hilarious.”

Renard was not the kind of man to give up easily. He looked from the bottle and then back to his captive lover. He didn't want her laughing—he wanted her moaning and squirming and begging for senseless things as he ravished her until he shamed all other men. It was with that thought he leaned down and tried again.

The clear liquid drizzled onto her skin, down the curve of her neck and chest. He took his time allowing the droplets to leave behind intricate trails as they dropped to the bed. This time he let them, he had plenty of bottles on the dresser. He painted her with the vodka like an artist and set the bottle back on the table to enjoy his work. His tongue easily found the trails left behind and he delighted in finding droplets still balanced on her skin and he lapped them greedily. His sense of taste was good enough it was easy to distinguish between the sweet taste of cake and the taste that was just Belle.

When his mouth closed around her nipple, she gasped.

“Victor!”

He smirked. In the last week he had almost learned every spot that made his name spill from her lips and her breasts were a big one.

He took the bottle and poured it directly on her nipple before leaning down and sucking hard. He rolled it between his teeth, wrapped his tongue around it and gave a slight twist that caused her to jerk at the scarves. Her laughter was pleasant but this was what he wanted.

Belle bit her lip and turned her body slightly, greedily asking him to do the other side in the same way. The cool liquid followed by the heat of Renard's mouth, left hot trails down her chest and she wanted it all over her body. As he repeated the process on the left side, Belle hooked her leg around his thigh and groaned softly.

“You're hard, Victor.” She craned her neck and was just barely able to kiss the top of his head. “Let me have you. Please.”

“Not yet,” he said quietly. He looked down the length of their bodies and saw the proof of her words. His jeans stretched tight as the mere sight and taste of Belle was enough to have him standing at attention. But he wasn't finished.

He shimmied his way down and tipped the bottle over her stomach, past her navel and allowed the vodka to soak into the top of her knickers. It felt strange and Belle didn't care for the sensation of wet cloth sticking to her until he leaned down. With the vodka trapped in the fabric, Renard sucked it out slowly, taking the material between his teeth and pressing his mouth against the outside of her until he got every last drop.

Belle's hips bucked against his face as he pulled back and his lips squeaked together. It was genius and he did it again, moving even lower and pressing his mouth back to her lacy covered folds.

The taste of vanilla and of Belle's juices was like all of Renard's favorite desserts rolled into one. Although he didn't eat very much, he would have spent all night at the table that was the beautiful woman lying on his bed and panting his name.

He did it again, balling more of the fabric into his mouth until it pulled and rubbed against her more sensitive areas and Belle let out a moan. She wanted his mouth on her without the underwear as a barrier. She wanted him inside her. She wanted him-- anything but this game of silk scarves and booze. But he was enjoying himself and without his sense of touch Belle had a hard time feeling adequate in the bedroom when it came to Renard. She would give him this for as long as her sanity would hold.

“Victor, please,” she said quietly. He liked it when she spoke to him. His lust fed on the purr of her voice and the things she said to him when they were in private.

“Please what?” he rumbled against her core as he poured more vodka down her thigh and licked it slowly while undoing her garter. The elastic gave with a soft snap and he tossed it aside after unclipping the strands from the tops of her stockings.

“You know what--” she closed her eyes tightly and tilted her hips upwards.

“Say it.”

“No.”

Renard was strong—it almost wasn't human—so when he flipped her over, it was without warning and she doubted it took much. The scarves twisted, one wrist over the other and Belle landed less than gracefully on her stomach and Renard pressed himself against her ass. He gripped her hair and pulled her neck back nice and slow.

“I can make you say it.” His warm breath tickled her ear and caused her shoulders to break out in goosebumps as he nipped the lobe.

Belle remained silent on purpose--playing into his new game—and gripped the bars on the headboard firmly. Renard straddled one of her thighs on his knees, working her underwear down with short tugs along with her stockings and his shirt. Let him do the work, she thought, it was his fault she couldn't give him a hand.

He grabbed one of the cream colored silk pillows from the foot of the bed. Folded in half and placed under her hips, it cantered her ass at the right angle and he couldn't help but run his hand over the smooth skin, kneading until she squirmed. He brushed her curls out of the way before grabbing the vodka bottle and dripping it down the curve of her back.

Belle gasped as the liquid followed the dip in her spine and pooled in the curve before her ass. Renard leaned down and drank deep like a lion at a watering hole.

“Don't get drunk on me,” Belle smiled and buried her face in her arms, enjoying the feel.

“Oh it's too late for that.” He did it again, playing bartender and pouring his own shots to shoot from the base of her spine. Try as he might, he was already drunk, not from the liquor—he could handle his fair share—but from Belle herself. Intoxicated by her in every way and he couldn't find a reason to complain.

Belle could feel her own moisture between her thighs—how much her body wanted him inside of her. Since he still insisted on playing, she moved her hips slowly, grinding down on the bed, needing pressure, friction—anything. She slipped against the silk and the pillow slid out from under her.

“No—no,” Renard shoved the pillow back into its proper place and bit her back in punishment. “Be still.”

Belle groaned—he sure liked giving orders. His fingers found her nipples again as he bit his way up her shoulder. He twisted, gently at first but lost hold on the alcohol covered buds. When he sank his teeth into the back of her neck and pinched his fingers together on her breast it was on the wrong side of too hard. Belle couldn't help the noise of pain that came from her mouth and he froze.

“Belle?”

“Ow,” she said quietly.

She knew he tried—unable to feel how hard he groped her—she knew the concentration it took to be gentle. This was the first time he had ever hurt her and her cheeks burned with having to break it to him.  
He palmed her breasts gently and licked her neck, nursing the red mark left in the wake of his teeth. The act was tender and her body forgave him instantly.

“Sorry--” he mumbled quietly against her skin, dominant facade broken by his want to comfort her.

“It's alright.” She turned her head over her shoulder and he obliged her with a kiss.“Make love to me.”

He nodded wordlessly, fumbling with something on the bedside table before her bonds broke under the blade of his pocketknife.

She heard the zipper on his jeans and a cry of relief built in her throat as he tossed the bottle to the ground and pressed against her. With his cock fit snugly against her ass, she pressed against him like a cat in heat. Her head bowed—curls blocking her vision—as the warm weight of him ignited her senses. He was so close to where she wanted him.

Renard looked down and a small hiss escaped his lips. He watched as the smooth globes of her ass ground against his cock, up and down, slowly moving him across her creamy skin. He could have watched her do that for hours.

He remained silent—content to watch her please herself with just the pressure. He had kept her up here for a long time. Once she started to slow, the fire inside her dying from his lack of participation, he touched her hips. With slow movements, he turned her, pulled her up to face him as her breasts pressed against his firm chest.

“Look at me,” He said firmly.

Belle complied as she put her arms around his neck—her hands still loosely bound with the ruined scarf. Renard sat back on his knees and pulled her thighs around his lap. When he slipped inside her it brought a whimper from her mouth. Plump lips forming a perfect 'O' as he jerked her down around his cock. Firmly sheathed inside of her, he stopped moving, adjusting his damp palms on her hips.

She sighed his name as he started to move slowly inside her. He rocked his hips in long, flawless movements bringing her to a point of ecstasy in no time at all. The noises she made—soft, helpless—like she had lost her strong resolve—made him feel like a god. He watched her face. In the past, when she was close, she bit her lip before throwing her head back. With just two more strokes—she did just that.

Belle yelled for him. Shuddering cries cast towards the ceiling as his vision grew spotty and he followed her into his own orgasm. He buried his face in the bend of her neck, inhaling the smell of her skin mixed with the hard liquor. A warm tingle gripped the inside of his chest as he clutched her and licked what was left of the vodka off the parts of her neck he could reach.

“T-thank you,” she shuddered. Her hair blanketed them both and she leaned over him and kissed his head with her arms still wrapped around his neck. God she smelled good.

He ignored her thanks like usual and kept his mouth busy with finding the vodka remnants. Maybe if they did this enough she would quit thanking him—it left an odd feeling deep in his gut.

She slipped off of him, whimpering again and laying comfortably amongst all of his pillows. He looked ridiculous—jeans and boxers half hanging off his body. So he shucked them quickly and stood by the bed, wondering what to do next.

“Victor?” Belle said gently.

God fucking dammit. They had never done this in his room. But it was his room—should he ask her to leave? Did she have clothes up here? Did he care? Normally they fucked and his radio went off, relieving him of such difficult decisions.

She repeated his name and he cursed softly before crawling into the bed behind her and pulling her to his chest. Belle squeaked quietly and looked over her shoulder, eyebrows raised in confusion.

“Is everything alright--?”

“Shh.” He closed his eyes before he buried his face in her hair. He ignored how much he enjoyed the smell of her curls—how his scent clung to her and how this was the second time he had thought of something as trivial as her damn smell. He ignored how he didn't feel like sleeping alone another night as he spooned her tightly. And he also ignored it when he saw her cheeks tilt up in a silent smile as she flicked off the bedside lamp.


End file.
